EDITED: July 10th, 2020

13 — Suspicious Minds

Harry was a terrible actor. It did not help he looked like was probably picturing Lockhart boiling inside a cauldron.

It could also be the fact he'd already played an old man with an awful back pain and a female villager with a whiny shriek, and Lockhart still found it in him to give him the role of a werewolf. Harry looked like he had had it, but he couldn't refuse, considering this had been part of the plan all along.

Still, I would always remember this. If he ever tried to force me into doing something, I would have a memory at hand of him running after Lockhart with fake teeth in his mouth.

"What's with him today?" Seamus whispered to me. Lockhart was now trying to coach Harry into howling.

I shrugged. "You know... practicing his acting. Maybe thinks he's got a shot if one of Lockhart's books get turned into a play."

Dean shuddered. "Shut up! Don't give him ideas."

"Nice loud howl, Harry – exactly – and then, if you'll believe it, I pounced – like this – slammed him to the floor – thus – with one hand, I managed to hold him down — with my other, I put my wand to his throat – I then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm – he let out a piteous moan – go on, Harry – higher than that – good – the fur vanished – the fangs shrank – and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective – and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks."

The bell rang and Lockhart got to his feet.

"Homework — compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of Magical Me to the author of the best one!"

The class began to leave. Harry joined us at the back, scowling.

"Ready?" he spat through the fake teeth.

Hermione stopped beating her fingers. "Wait till everyone's gone."

I rolled my eyes and shoved her forward. Had it not been for her quick reflexes, she would've hurt her shin with a nearby desk.

She turned to glare at me, but Lockhart's, "Yes?" made her face go beet red. She spun to face him, looking like a woman walking down the plank.

Hermione began to stammer. "Err – Professor Lockhart? I – I wanted to – to get this book out of the library. Just for background reading." Hand shaking, she held up the piece of paper with the title. "But – but the thing is, it's in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it – I'm sure it would help me understand what you say in Gadding with Ghouls about slow-acting venoms –"

"Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!" Lockhart said, taking the note from Hermione and smiling widely at her. "Possibly my very favourite book. You enjoyed it?"

"Oh, yes," Hermione said eagerly. "So clever, the way you trapped that last one with the tea-strainer –"

I had no idea what they were talking about.

"Well, I'm sure no one will mind me giving the best student of the year little extra help," Lockhart said warmly, and he pulled out an enormous peacock quill. I eyed it. "Yes, nice, isn't it?" he said, apparently misreading my incredulous gaze. "I usually save it for book signings."

"Such an honour, sir," I simpered. "You sure you want to waste it for something simple as this?"

"For a fan, Miss Barton, anything!" said Lockhart, grinning.

"So, Harry," said Lockhart later, while Hermione folded the note with fumbling fingers and slipped it into her bag. "Tomorrow's the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? I hear you're a useful player. I was a Seeker, too. I was asked to try for the National Squad but preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, if ever you feel the need for a little private training, don't hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my expertise to less able players..."

"I think you'll find yourself surprised just how capable he is, Professor," I said sharply, ignoring the airhead's stunned expression as I tugged Hermione from her robes. "Have a good evening, sir."

Outside the classroom, we stared at the loopy signature.

"I don't believe it," Harry muttered. "He didn't even look at the book we wanted."

"Are you really that surprised?" I said. "Imagine if Malfoy had asked him to sign something. That would have been quite disastrous."

"Lockhart's a brainless git," said Ron dismissively. "But who cares, we've got what we needed –"

"He is not a brainless git!" Hermione said shrilly as we jogged toward the library. Madam Pince, the librarian, was a thin, irritable woman who looked like an underfed vulture.

"Moste Potente Potions?" she repeated suspiciously, trying to take the note from Hermione. But she wouldn't let go.

"I was wondering if I could keep it," she said breathlessly.

"Oh, come on!" Glaring, Ron wrenched it from her hand and thrust it at Madam Pince. "We'll get you another autograph. Lockhart'll sign anything if is stands still long enough."

Madam Pince shot us another suspicious look. She held the paper up to the light, narrowing her eyes at the handwriting. With a scowl, she stalked away. She returned several minutes later, carrying a large and mouldy-looking book. When it came to the point of letting it go, she was as hard as steel; we had to pry off her hands from the binding.

Five minutes later, we barricaded in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. It was reasonable to do the potion there: no one in their right mind ever came here. Privacy was guaranteed, and though Myrtle's cries made me feel like pulling out my hair, I endured it.

Hermione touched Moste Potente Potions like one did with a newborn. The book looked like it was about to fall apart, so she was very careful to touch its pages. I bit my cheeks at the most gruesome pictures, closing my eyes and feeling nauseous.

"Here it is," said Hermione. I opened my eyes and peered over her shoulder. The headline was smudged with ink, and under it, was a picture of a person twisting painfully as it transformed into another.

I whistled lowly. "This is... horrible." The man's mouth hung open in a silent scream.

My friend went through the lines quickly. "This is the most complex potion I've ever seen," she commented, leafing through. "Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass... well, they're easy enough, they're in the student store-cupboard, we can help ourselves... oooh, look, powdered horn of a bicorn – don't know where we're going to get that – shredded skin of a boomslang – that'll be tricky, too – and of course a bit of whoever we want to change into."

Ron jerked. "Excuse me? What do you mean with 'a bit of whoever we're changing into'? If Crabbe's toenails are on it, I'm not drinking it –"

I wrinkled my nose. Hermione shot him an irritated look.

"We will not be drinking from toenails, Ronald," she said. "We don't have to worry about that part yet, because those bits are added last."

"It still sounds nauseating," I mumbled.

Harry looked properly worried at the long list of ingredients.

"Hermione, do you realize how much we're going to have to steal? Shredded skin of a boomslang – that's definitely something that's not in the students' cupboard. What're we going to do, break into Snape's private stores? I don't know if this is a good idea..."

Hermione shut the book with a snap, glaring. Her face was slowly turning red.

"Well, if you three are going to chicken out, fine. I don't want to break rules, you know. I think threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But if you don't want to find out if it's Malfoy, I'll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand the book back in –"

"Slow down, Firecracker. Nobody's saying no."

"I never thought I'd see the day when you'd be persuading us to break rules," said Ron. "All right, we'll do it. But not toenails, okay?"

•••◘◘◘•••

Watching the Gryffindor team eat was like watching a bunch of statues suddenly coming alive. Their movements were jerky and their backs were as straight as rods – or as if they had one tied to their backs.

Hermione, Ron, and I wished Harry luck before he entered the locker room and later, we headed toward the stands.

I thought the game would be a normal one, despite the odds being against the Gryffindor team; I had faith they would win because they were superb. But I hadn't seen the bludger coming.

Up and down, side to side. I was nearly shaking each time the bludger seemed to get too close to Harry.

Then it did. Harry, foolish Harry, flew straight at Malfoy, one arm dangling uselessly by his side, the other reaching over Malfoy's head.

And he fell.

"Harry Potter has caught the Snitch! Gryffindor wins!" Lee Jordan exclaimed from the teachers' stands.

"Let's go!" said Ron, pushing through the crowd. The bludger was still floating around Harry's unconscious body, slamming harshly on the ground and leaving holes on the pitch. It rose again, and this time, it was positioned to slam down on his face.

Rage coursed through my veins. I pointed my wand at it, and yelled, "Finite Incantatem!"

The bludger exploded into dust.

A crowd had formed around Harry, but I pushed past them and dropped by his side. I started slapping his cheeks gently.

"Harry, wake up! Can you hear me? Harry!"

His eyes fluttered open, trying to focus on my face. Relief washed over me.

"Anya," he said faintly, "we won."

"Yeah," I said, "you did. You caught the Snitch right under Malfoy's nose!"

"Ear," he corrected. His glasses were dangling from one ear, I noticed. And then, abruptly, he said, "Your eyes are pretty."

It was such an odd thing to say, but then again, he'd just been hit by a flying ball in a school of witchcraft and wizardry.

"Err..." Despite the drizzling, cold rain, my cheeks grew hot. "Thanks. Yours are pretty, too."

His sloppy smile slid off his face as he groaned. I thought it was because of his broken arm, but then –

"Oh, no, not you!" he moaned.

Gilderoy Lockhart pushed me aside with a laugh. I landed on my backside.

"Ha! Doesn't know what he is saying, the poor lad! He must have a concussion, but do not worry – I'll fix his arm!"

"NO!" Harry and I yelled.

"I'll keep it like this, thanks," said Harry nervously. He tried to sit up, but he dropped back, groaning.

"Don't move," I ordered him, trying to move around him and help him to sit was the familiar clicking noise of Creevey's camera, making me snap at the poor boy. "This is not the time to take photos, Creevey!"

"Lie back, Harry," said Lockhart soothingly. "It's a simple charm I've used countless times –"

"Why can't I just go to the hospital wing?" said Harry through clenched teeth.

"Don't touch him!" I exclaimed, grabbing the teacher's colourful jade sleeve and trying to tug him away. He shoved me again, this time harder, and I fell back into the crowd. I cursed and tried to find my way back to Harry.

I was late. When I finally pushed forward, Harry's broken arm wasn't broken – it was dangling at an awkward angle, looking like some type of rubber band.

"Yes, well – sometimes that can happen," Lockhart was saying, indifferent to the frightened students. "But the point is – his bones are no longer broken!"

"Course not!" I yelled. "He's got none now!"

"Miss Barton, look on the bright side! It doesn't hurt, does it, Harry?" Lockhart caught sight of Madam Hooch. "On second thought – yes, Madam Pomfrey will tidy you up a bit."

•••◘◘◘•••

"You should have come straight to me!" Poppy looked angrier than I had seen Mrs. Weasley be. Her face had turned an angry scarlet as she marched up and down the Hospital Wing, stopping to say at the farthest bed, "Oh, Mr. Malfoy, stop making such a fuss, you can go!"

She came back. "I can mend bones in a second — but growing them back —"

"You will be able to, won't you?" said Harry desperately.

"I'll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful," said Pomfrey grimly, handling Harry a pair of pyjamas. "You'll have to stay the night..." Hermione and I waited outside the curtain drawn as Ron helped Harry into the pyjamas.

"How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh?" Ron called through the curtain, "If Harry had wanted deboning he would have asked."

"Anyone can make a mistake," Hermione dismissed it with a wave of her hand.

"That man could have hurt Harry, Hermione!" I snapped. "Hasn't that registered in your head?"

"Of course it did, Anya!" she hissed, then said to the curtain, "But it doesn't hurt anymore, does it, Harry?"

"No, but it doesn't do anything either."

Poppy moved the curtains aside, walking to Harry with a large bottle labelled as Skele-Gro. The lid was shaped to look like a skull.

"You're in for a rough night, Potter," she sighed, pouring the liquid into a glass and handing it to Harry, who then spit it out and started to cough. "Well, what did you expect? Pumpkin juice?"

•••◘◘◘•••

"You're doing it again, aren't you?"

I turned. The girl stared down her nose at me, her plait swinging as she traipsed down the stairs. Every step she took was like a slap to the head.

How nosy. I whirled – and found myself facing her.

I glared. Up close, her eyes looked slightly green.

"You are, aren't you?" she said accusingly. "Look at your clothes! Look at him!"

I did. They were wet. So, so wet that they clung to my frame like an awkward-looking cloak. My hands were red too.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, I walked around her, but she kept following me at every shadow, at every window.

When I turned the corner, I saw not only Colin Creevey on the floor, but also my reflection on the window.

My eyes were dark. And behind me, Tom looked slightly troubled.

•••◘◘◘•••

I woke up with blood on my pillow. After a thorough search, I concluded it came from my nose.

I was relieved; Madam Pomfrey had said if it came from my mouth or my ears, I would be forced to stay in the Hospital Wing. If it poured from my nose, that meant there was some progress. But just in case, I still applied make-up.

I made my way to the Hospital Wing, holding a hanky to my nose. I was greeted by the sight of Harry sitting up on his bed, looking surprised and relieved to see me.

"Morning, golden boy," I said to him cheerfully. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," he grunted, leaning back on his pillows. "What about you?" He eyed the once-white handkerchief.

I waved it dismissively. "Loads better, actually. According to Poppy, this means I'm healing."

"If you say so. Where are Ron and Hermione?"

I blinked. "They haven't arrived yet? Hermione was gone when I woke up." I noticed his worried frown. I grew serious. "Why? What happened?"

He licked his lips and looked over my shoulder. I turned slowly and saw that a bed was covered by curtains.

What Harry said made my blood turn cold.

"Colin Creevey was petrified last night."

•••◘◘◘•••

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened before?" Hermione parroted.

She'd been in the girls' bathroom with Ron since six o'clock, the time when students usually started to wander in the common room. They'd heard Professor McGonagall telling Professor Flitwick about the attack, and they'd gathered all the ingredients we'd acquired for the Polyjuice Potion to start its preparation.

Once we'd settled inside the stall, Harry told us about Dobby's visit. The house-elf had confessed to him that he'd bewitched the bludger in hopes that when Harry got injured, the boy would desist on trying to stay. However, the elf's plan backfired; he'd slipped, and told Harry the Chamber of Secrets had been opened before.

Ron, triumphant, said, "That settles it! Lucius Malfoy must've opened the Chamber when he was at school here and now he's told dear old Draco how to do it. It's obvious! Wish Dobby had told you what kind of monster is in there, though: I want to know how come nobody's noticed it sneaking around the school."

"Maybe it can make itself invisible," said Hermione, prodding leeches to the bottom of the cauldron. "Or maybe it can disguise itself – pretend to be a suit of armour or something – I've read about Chameleon Ghouls –"

"You read too much, Hermione," said Ron, pouring dead lacewings on top of the leeches. He crumpled up the empty lacewing bag and looked at Harry. "So Dobby stopped us from getting on the train and broke your arm..." He shook his head. "You know what, Harry? If he doesn't stop trying to save your life he's going to kill you."

•••◘◘◘•••

News about Colin's attack had travelled quicky. Indeed, by Monday morning, everyone looked around in suspicion, and first years journeyed in close-knit packs. But as panic seized, the trade of talismans, amulets, and other things began.

I thought they were silly, but others didn't share my opinion. One time I'd entered the common room, I had crashed into Neville. A foul smell like no other had hit my nose and I had to pinch the bridge and hold my breath to not inhale it.

"Neville, what the hell is that smell?" I'd asked noisily.

He'd showed me a large, green onion, a rotting new tail, and a pointed purple crystal.

"Protective amulets," was his simple answer.

I'd almost gagged when I gasped out, "What for?"

"For protection – that way the monster won't go for me."

"With that smell, I'd avoid you too," I'd said. "But Neville, you're Pureblood: it's unlikely you'll be attacked!"

"They went for Filch first. And everyone knows I'm almost a Squib."

I was too focused on the game to notice the people around me. If I were honest, I was drowning out their voices and the music in the background. Mostly, I was trying to ignore the disappointed glances of the Charms Club and Professor Flitwick, who were decorating the Great Hall.

I hadn't meant to be rude, but they'd been too loud. I was trying to win – why play if not for that? Even the chess pieces could feel the turning of the tables – they'd never played with such a creative player as I.

They exclaimed expletives when Ginny Weasley sat across me, interrupting my focus.

I squinted at her. "Hello?"

Ginny quivered slightly. She did that whenever she spoke with Harry... or I. It wasn't a recent thing, as she made sure to avoid me as much as possible. But ever since Colin Creevey turned up as stiff as a board, I had noticed her eyes following me at the common room.

She tried to smile and failed miserably.

"Hi. Ahm, how are you? I heard about..." She gestured to her face.

"Well." I tried to go back to the game, but Ginny quivered violently as she nodded. The chess pieces sighed as I looked at her once more. "Anything else you'd like to enquire?"

She frowned and blurted, "Since when do you speak so formally?" A flush spread over her skin, pointedly remarking her faces and reminding me of chicken pox.

"Short sentences usually sound like that." I straightened as a familiar tartan robe approached us. "Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall."

"Miss Barton." She nodded. "Miss Weasley. Christmas is approaching, as you well know, and it's required you confirm whether you will stay at Hogwarts or not."

"I am." I accepted the quill and parchment, signing quickly. My name was at the top again.

"Miss Weasley?"

"I-I'm leaving, I think? I haven't asked my siblings."

"Ron's staying," I commented, raising an eyebrow as she paled.

"Really? I..."

Professor McGonagall softened. "Take your time, Miss Weasley. You have the rest of the week to sign your name."

She muttered a very quiet thank you, stood, and tried to not run away from me.

Hermione, who'd been coming the opposite way, raised an eyebrow at me. She signed up her name without hesitation, and finally asked me what that had been about as Professor McGonagall left.

"She's scared like the rest, I suppose." I lowered my voice. "Is the potion ready?"

It was a ridiculous idea, but my friends were more ridiculous for going ahead with the plan. I'd been ignored the first times I'd tried to argue and I eventually gave up, choosing to see where this would go.

Hermione looked around. "We're missing a few ingredients," she whispered. "Bicorn Horn and Boomslang Skin. But they are only available in Professor Snape's stores."

"How are we going to get them?" said Harry, suddenly appearing at my side and Ron in the other.

"What we need is a diversion. Then one of us can sneak into Snape's office and take the missing ingredients," said Hermione briskly.

I shrugged. "That's easy." I searched inside my backpack until I found my pair of pink-and-yellow-striped cylinders.

"What are those?" Ron asked.

"Filibuster Fireworks. Your brothers gave me a full package as a thank-you gift for making Flint lose a lot of practices. Lit up this thing in the dungeon, and BAM! Distraction."

"That is, if we don't end up burning down the dungeons," Harry commented. "I wouldn't complain, but it'd make things more difficult, wouldn't it?"

"I can do it," I offered. "I know how to use it and my aim's really good."

"Yes! Then I could do the actual stealing," said Hermione fervently.

The rest of us looked at her in surprise. She rolled her eyes. "I've got a clean record – who do you think Professor Snape will turn to when it happens?"

Ron and I pointed at Harry. He scowled.

•••◘◘◘•••

Despite knowing what I would do in the next few minutes, I still poured my efforts into helping Harry with his potion.

"Come on, Anya," he hissed.

"No excuses," I said waspishly. "You're still a terrible potioneer. Do you want Professor McGonagall to bully you into getting better notes if you want to stay on the Quidditch team – again?"

He gave an exasperated sigh and did as I told him. When Snape passed behind us, he didn't say a word; he left us with a scowl and turned to the nearest Gryffindor, who just happened to be Neville Longbottom.

I monitored the people around me. Malfoy was mocking Ron. Neville was trembling as Snape left him.

From her spot next to Seamus Finnigan, Hermione scratched her scalp.

I pulled out the firework and placed the longish string beneath the cauldron. The tip caught on fire, and I waited until everyone around me was not paying attention to throw it at Gregory Goyle's cauldron.

It landed inside perfectly. Unfortunately for Goyle, it exploded the very moment he decided to check his potion's progress.

The whole class was showered with his Swelling Solution. People shrieked as they suddenly started to feel the effects. People like Malfoy got a mouthful and his nose began to swell like a balloon; Goyle blundered around, his hands over his eyes, which had expanded to the size of dinner plates.

"Silence! SILENCE!" Snape roared. "Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draft - when I find out who did this –" As Snape, tried to calm down his students, I saw Hermione return to her seat, nodding with a smile.

When everyone received the antidote and settled down, Snape inspected through Goyle's cauldron, pulling out the burnt firecracker.

"If I ever find out who threw this," he whispered, "I shall make sure that person is expelled."

I almost smirked. As if he would be able to catch me.

(Only one person had managed such feat and she was probably dead.)

•••◘◘◘•••

The following week was spent at Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, much to my chagrin. We were subjected to her wailing and complaints about students – her classmates. It had quickly turned down the mood when Ron realized aloud most of them were probably dead and we tried to spend as little time there as possible while still keeping an eye on the potion.

It was while we were returning that we found a small crowd gathering at the entrance hall.

"They're starting a Duelling Club!" said Seamus Finnigan when we caught up to him and Dean Thomas. "First meeting tonight! I wouldn't mind duelling lessons; they might come in handy one of these days..."

"What, you reckon Slytherin's monster can duel?" Ron asked.

I smirked. "Wouldn't that be a sight. Who's the teacher?"

"Everyone's betting it's Professor Flitwick," said Dean.

"Does it matter? Could be useful though," said Ron, shrugging. "Shall we go?"

We hung around until the evening, when the Great Hall became available once more. The tables had disappeared, replaced by a golden stage that was as long as the room itself.

"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" Hermione wondered.

"It'd be really cool if the rumours about Flitwick were true," I said. "He was a duelling champion back in his days, not to mention he's endlessly patient when teaching wandwork."

"As long as it's not –" Harry began, but he ended with a groan; Gilderoy Lockhart had walked onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, who wore his usual black set.

Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called, "Gather around, gather around! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!

"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little duelling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions – for full details, see my published works.

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," said Lockhart, grinning. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about duelling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry – you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

"I can't believe it, but I think I feel sorry for him," I murmured. Ron snickered.

"Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?" he said.

"That would be asking too much of him."

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

"Oh, I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured when Snape bared his teeth.

"One – two – three –"

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: "Expelliarmus!" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet; he flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Malfoy and a few of the other Slytherins cheered. Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. "Do you think he's all right?" she squealed through her fingers.

"Who cares?" Harry, Ron and I said together.

Lockhart was getting to his feet.

"Well, there you have it!" he said, walking back to the platform unsteadily. "That was a Disarming Charm – as you see, I've lost my wand – ah, thank you, Miss Brown – yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but it you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy – however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see..." He stopped short at the murderous look in Snape's eyes. "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me –"

Both teachers moved through the crowd, matching students up in pairs. Lockhart was pairing Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchey when Snape swooped on us.

"Time to split up the dream team, I think," he sneered."Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter –"

Harry moved automatically toward Hermione. I glared at him.

"I don't think so," Snape said. "Mr. Malfoy, come over here. Let's see what you make of the famous Potter. And you, Miss Granger – you can partner with Miss Bulstrode. Miss Barton – you can go partner with Mr. Zabini."

Blaise Zabini was a dark skinned boy, almost as tall as Ron. His cheekbones looked like they could cut, and his eyes were long, slanting, and dark. He was a Slytherin, and while there was a rivalry between our houses, he was always chivalrous with me: he greeted me politely on mornings and made small talk when we were paired in Potions.

Sometimes, I wondered if he had other intentions. In a way, he reminded me of Tom.

"Face your partners!" Lockhart said, back on the platform. "And bow!"

Zabini did as told. I tried to not look as dazzled as I felt.

"Wands at the ready!" Lockhart shouted. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents – only to disarm them – we don't want any accidents – one... two... three –"

"Expelliarmus!" There were twins blue flashes, and our wands landed on the floor.

"I said disarm only!" I heard Lockhart shriek. Zabini rolled his eyes and I saw him mouth something like "Pathetic."

Both Harry and Malfoy had gotten far away from using moderated spells, but it was Hermione who took the worse. Millicent Bulstrode had her in a headlock and was not letting go, not even after Snape commanded her to do it. I retrieved my wand from the ground, and sent a hex at her; Millincent's hands burned for a second, time enough to let go of Hermione. She dropped unceremoniously on the floor, gasping.

"Barton, detention with me!" snarled Snape.

"Dear, dear," said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. "Up you go, Macmillan... careful there, Miss Fawcett... pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a second, Boot –

"I think I'd better teach you how to block unfriendly spells," said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. "Let's have a volunteer pair – Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you –"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," said Snape, gliding over like the scary and malevolent bat he was. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox." Poor Neville went pink. With a twisted smile, Snape suggested the worst pair ever: Harry and Malfoy.

"Excellent idea!" Lockhart said, gesturing said boys into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to let them step up to the platform.

"Are you all right?" I asked Hermione as she walked over with Ron's aid.

"Yes. Thank you, by the way."

"No problem."

"Shouldn't we get you to the hospital wing?" Ron asked dumbfounded. Hermione snorted.

"And miss this?" We all looked at the stage where Lockhart was.

"Three — two — one — go!" he shouted.

Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, "Serpensortia!"

The end of his wand exploded. I watched as a large, black snake fell between them and started to hiss, looking ready to strike. Harry looked at the snake's eyes and –

"Don't move, Potter," said Snape lazily. "I'll get rid of it..."

"Allow me!" Lockhart shouted. He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward where I was standing, raising itself again and posing to strike.

He rose behind me like a protective shadow. I heard him speak, whispering what I should do, and the snake hesitated.

"Leave her alone!" I heard Harry say. But there was something wrong with his voice. It sounded like –

"Impossible," Tom hissed. His hold of my shoulder grew uncomfortably tight.

The snake and I whipped our heads to peer at him. Harry, to my horror, kept talking. The snake slithered away and toward a Hufflepuff boy whose name I wasn't bothered to remember. But I didn't focus on that; instead, I gauged the many faces that had paled.

Fear. Hatred. An understanding I was sure they were wrong of. These people would turn on Harry if he didn't' stop.

Finally, the snake dropped. Harry grinned.

"What do you think you're playing at?" Justin shouted, and before anyone could say a word, he turned and stormed out of the hall.

Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. Snape, too, was looking at Harry with a calculating look, trying to find an explanation of what happened. Everyone started whispering, their voices echoing against the walls.

Ron went forward and grabbed the back of Harry's robes.

Hauled by his friend, Hermione and I followed them, people parting away from our path.

When we walked into the common room, Ron pushed Harry on a couch and demanded to know why he hadn't told us he was a Parselmouth.

"I'm a what?" said Harry.

"A Parselmouth!" said Ron. "You can talk to snakes!"

"I know," Harry said. "I mean, that's only the second time I've ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once – long story – but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil and I sort of set it free without meaning to – that was before I knew I was a wizard –"

I remembered the zoo trip: it had been the first time I'd spotted Harry and his horrible family.

"A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?" Ron repeated faintly.

"So?" said Harry. "I bet loads of people here can do it."

"Oh, no, they can't," said Ron. "It's not a very common gift. Harry, this is bad."

"Don't overreact," I snapped, running a hand through my hair. "Harry's a Parselmouth. That's it."

Ron looked at me like if I'd grown a second head.

"'That's it'?" he repeated. "'That's it'?! Anne, do you know what this means?"

"I'm not an idiot! I know what it means – but it's Harry. Harry didn't know, so, there's nothing to worry about."

Ron looked like he was about to have a heart-attack.

"When you decide to tell me what's going on –!"

"A Parselmouth is someone who can speak the language of snakes," I said, shooting Ron a small glare. "They are not very common in the Wizarding World, that's why they are all making a great deal of it."

"Not a great deal, she says," Ron grumbled. "What were you saying, anyways?"

"You heard me – I told the snake to not attack Anya or Justin –"

"That's what you said? It sounded like if you were egging it or something – it sounded creepy –"

Harry gasped. "I spoke a different language? But – I didn't realize – how can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it?"

"You don't learn it, Harry," I said warily. "At least not at first. People who can speak Parseltongue have... err, their brains are wired differently. You know, so they can understand it. That's why it is a lot worse."

"What's wrong with stopping a massive snake from biting off one of my friends' heads?" he snapped. "What does it matter how I did it as long as you or Justin didn't have to join the Headless Hunt?"

"It matters," said Hermione, speaking at last in a hushed voice, "because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That's why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent."

Harry's mouth fell open.

"Exactly," said Ron. "And now the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-great-grandson or something –"

"But I'm not."

"You'll find that hard to prove," said Hermione. "He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be."

I laughed. I couldn't help it.

"Harry, the Heir of Slytherin? That's ridiculous – no offense. I'd bet all my money this came from Voldemort or something."

Harry looked at me desperately. "How can you be so sure?"

He had a point. How could I be so sure? What Hermione had said was right, but I still felt strongly against it. Harry wasn't the heir. Hewasn't.

"I just do," I said. "You aren't the bad guy."

"Salazar Slytherin wasn't at first," Hermione said gently. "We can't blame the world for fearing a past that threatens to repeat itself."